


Mistress

by Nary



Category: Diablotin
Genre: Corsetry, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, F/M, Femdom, Forced Feminization, Gender Roles, Genderplay, Hair-pulling, Pegging, Prostitution, Role Reversal, Spanking, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-01
Updated: 2010-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:45:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/136980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nary/pseuds/Nary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He seemed happy enough, but she sensed there was something else he wanted, something he couldn't yet ask her for and she couldn't possibly guess.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mistress

Taralynn knew very well just how lucky she was to have caught Theron Rademacher's eye. He may have been a cad, but he was young, handsome, and rich enough to provide for her comfortably. He paid for her to have new gowns made, saying "I can't have my whore looking unfashionable, now can I?" with that sly smile of his. She smiled back, privately hating him - she wasn't under any delusions about her role, but it still stung. She only wore the elegant dresses when she was going out somewhere with him, and kept her simple clothing safely packed away for the inevitable day when he grew tired of her.

At first, she expected that day to come quickly. Theron could have his choice of partners, after all, and she was nothing special compared to any other pretty girl who was willing to spread her legs. She assumed he would grow bored of her and move on to someone else within a month or two, and so she did her best to enjoy the luxuries while they lasted, the evenings spent at theatres and ballrooms and private parties in expensive rooms. She laughed at his jokes and sucked him off in carriages and obediently did whatever else he asked of her, sometimes even before he asked. He seemed happy enough, but she sensed there was something else he wanted, something he couldn't yet ask her for and she couldn't possibly guess.

Theron had a flat, an elegant little place on Griffin Lane in the Place d'Iena, away from his family's mansion, but it was the better part of a month before he invited her in. She didn't press him on the matter, allowing him his private space. One night, after an evening of dancing at Surryk's, they nestled together in the cab. Taralynn's feet were tired and she had a headache coming on. When Theron pressed her to oblige him, she snapped, "Can't you keep your hands to yourself for five minutes?" He drew back, surprised by her anger, and she regretted it immediately, knowing she had probably just ruined her relationship with a man who could have been an important patron. It could have been worse, she reflected gloomily - Abramin would have beaten her for such behaviour. Theron was not the violent sort of man, fortunately. He would probably just drop her off at home and never see her again.

However, instead of taking her to the pitiful little room she rented in Pearl City, he directed the driver to take them to his flat. "I don't feel like driving all that way, why don't you just stay here tonight?" he said, with a studied nonchalance, and she agreed equally carelessly, trying not to seem over-eager to make up for her misstep.

The flat, occupying the entire top floor of the narrow brick building, was quite obviously a young gentleman's private residence, well-furnished but untouched by feminine taste or style. Taralynn briefly imagined what she could do with the place if she lived here, but didn't want to get her hopes up. She couldn't help but notice that Theron's hands were shaking slightly as he locked the door behind them. "Make yourself comfortable," he told her, helping himself from the well-stocked liquor cabinet in one corner of the sitting room. He did not offer her a drink, and she didn't ask him for one, instead sitting down.

"I'm sorry..." she began, but he cut her off.

"Oh, don't apologize. I quite deserved it. No, Lynnie, I want to ask you something," he said, pacing rather than sitting down himself. He was obviously trying to build up the courage to say something important. "It may sound... unusual, but hear me out. I think it could work. If you don't like the sound of it, then you can leave, with no fuss about it. And of course you can keep the gifts and so forth," he added. Taralynn suspected this was less out of gentlemanly generosity than as a bribe, to buy her silence over whatever potentially embarrassing thing he might be about to suggest. She nodded, curious.

Theron took another swig, then set his drink down on the sidetable. "Inside these walls," he began, "I want you to be my mistress."

Taralynn arched an eyebrow. "I thought I already was."

To her surprise, Theron blushed. "I mean... moreso. I want you to be the one in charge. For you to... to dominate me. To make me do things."

"What sort of things?"

"Well, whatever you want," he said, lowering his eyes. "Use me for your pleasure, punish me... it's up to you." He looked up, anxious. "You'll still do as I say when we're out in public, of course - for the appearance of things, you know."

"Of course," she said with a slow smile, her mind whirling with ideas. "I believe I can give you what you want. Do you want to start immediately?"

"Please," he said eagerly.

"Very well." Taralynn stood, drawing herself up to her full height, which wasn't much. "Get on your knees," she snapped.

Theron looked slightly startled at her sudden change of tone, but obeyed. She crossed the room to him, knotted her fingers in his red-gold curls, and tilted his head up to look at her, none too gently. "You've been a very, very bad boy," she said sternly. "I ought to give you a whipping, but I don't have a switch."

"Actually," Theron ventured cautiously, eyes watering, "there's one in the bedroom."

"Did I say you could talk?" she asked sweetly, tugging his hair more tightly until he winced. "Go fetch it, then. Oh, and stay on your knees," she added as an afterthought. As he crawled off to do her bidding, Taralynn decided that she could definitely get used to this.

***

It was quite satisfying being Theron's mistress, and not only because it meant living in much more comfortable quarters than she was accustomed to. At first she worried that sooner or later she would push him too far and their agreement would be over, but as the weeks went on and he didn't snap back, she became more bold. He was obedient, except when he was angling for punishment, and the more Taralynn mistreated him, the more devoted he seemed to become. In public, he kept up the façade of a swaggering young noble, but in the privacy of the flat, he was her willing servant. Ordered to fetch her a drink, he would hurry to obey. If she told him to lick her pussy, he did so without any expectation that she would necessarily get him off afterwards (although sometimes, if he'd been particularly good, she did). She could tie him up, spank him, kick him out of bed to sleep on the floor like a dog - though never when he had one of his nightmares, that felt too cruel even for her... Whenever she needed inspiration, she just thought of the various punishments Sister Annalise had inflicted on her as a little girl, or imagined things she would have liked to do to Abramin, and that always provided the necessary spark.

At first she confined herself to creative use of the tools that were readily at hand - his riding crop, belts, candles - but soon he provided her with the funds to purchase some more specially-designed playthings. A deep-seated instinct told her to take the money and run, but she suppressed it and made certain discreet inquiries among the whores she'd roomed with in Pearl when she first came to the city. They told her of a little shop in the Place d'Iena, really just a hole in the wall on Plum Street, where she was able to procure an assortment of custom-made harnesses, gags, and floggers that kept them both well satisfied.

But what Theron really enjoyed, even more than the pain, was the humiliation. She thought she had never seen him so happy as the day she first ordered him to lick her feet. He had knelt before her, taken her foot between his hands, and bowed his head almost reverently, tongue sliding between her toes in a way that made her shiver. When he later worked his way higher without asking permission, she let him get away with it - then put him over her lap and paddled him for his impertinence, after she had peaked, of course. He came across her thighs on the fourth stroke, also without permission, so naturally she made him clean up his mess... That night he slept like a baby, no bad dreams at all.

Outside of the flat Theron was like a different person, still the same arrogant young lord, but now Taralynn could see through this disguise to his real self. She didn't break the boundaries he'd established from the outset, but now and then she would nudge them a little. She found it amusing to make him kneel and tighten the laces on her boot when they went for a walk in the Firefly Gardens, perhaps stepping on his hand 'by accident', or to tell him to carry her reticule and parasol for her when they went to the theatre. It was the way he blushed at the latter humiliation that gave her a new idea - though it required another trip to the shop on Plum Street, and another to a tailor's.

Once she had secured her supplies, she waited for Theron's next visit. He often did not come to her for several nights in a row, having one family obligation or another, so she had ample time to envision how the scene would play out. The visions aroused her more than she would have expected only a few short months before, but she resisted the urge to work her fingers between her thighs, saving her energies for the real thing.

When Theron finally presented himself, he admired her new outfit. It was a neatly-tailored men's jacket, shirt, and trousers that clung to her slim hips, but bulged obscenely at the front. Her hair was tied back from her face, and though she would not have passed for a young man, not with such delicate bones, the effect was still striking. Her first order was for him to disrobe. This was not all that unusual, so he did it readily, stripping his clothes off.

"Now," she said once he was naked, "I have some new clothes for you." He looked puzzled, but followed her obediently into the bedroom, where she had laid out a frilly white petticoat trimmed with lace, and a waist-cinching corset. "You probably don't know how to put these on, so I'll help you this time," she told him. He gasped when she tugged the laces of the corset tight, sucking in his breath. "Oh, stop complaining," she snapped, "or next time it'll be so tight you can hardly sit down. See how you like that. There," she said, stepping back to eye him approvingly. "Turn around and let me look at you." He turned under her gaze, a blush staining his cheeks as he awkwardly smoothed the skirt. Taralynn noticed the way his cock tented the fine fabric, and smiled. "You make such a pretty girl," she told him sweetly, and he blushed more furiously still, but made no retort.

She had fastened the buckles snugly so that everything was held in place, but still she was a little nervous as she stripped off her trousers and drawers that something might come loose. Fortunately, even once freed from its snug confines, it seemed as solid as ever, the smooth length of carved wood held against her mound by its wide base and thick leather straps. She let Theron have a good, long look at it, building anticipation. "Do you like it?"

"It's so big," he said softly. "I don't know if I can..."

"You'll take it and beg for more," she said sternly. "Turn to the vanity, place your hands on the top, and bend over." He did as he was told. She flipped his skirt up lazily, admiring the curve of his bared ass before giving it a slap hard enough to make him flinch. It left a lovely, mottled redness behind. "Spread your legs for me, whore," she ordered him, delighting in the feel of the word as it left her lips. The heavy weight of the cock was unfamiliar, but equally arousing to her. She leaned over Theron, letting it rub teasingly against him, in order to retrieve the bottle of oil from the top of her dressing table. He gasped when her fingers, cool and slippery, spread him wider. She rubbed the length of her tool with the remaining liquid, and then placed a hand on his back to steady herself as she started slowly pushing into him.

Theron whimpered and whined, until she grew tired of his complaints and told him to stop. After that he bore it mostly in silence, letting out only the occasional gasp when she sank in deeper. When his hand strayed down to stroke his cock, she slapped it away. "Hands on the top, I said. You don't deserve that yet." She gave him another slap on the ass for good measure. "I'll decide when you're allowed to come." She looked at herself in the mirror, savouring how powerful she felt, how humbled he looked beneath her. "You're a tight little cunt, aren't you," she told him. "Tell your master how much you want it."

"I…unh… I want it so bad, m-master… please, fuck me harder..." His eyes were squeezed shut, cheeks burning with something that could have been shame and could have been pleasure - she suspected it was a mixture of both. She pushed into him harder, and his eyes flew wide open as he cried out, then quickly bit down on his lip to silence himself. His attempts at obedience made her smile, and she stroked his back, teasing the narrow line of skin visible where the corset laced. She could feel him relax then, drawing her in until she was completely buried in him. His breathing was ragged, growing faster as the effort to accept her grew more difficult, and at last, after a few more slow thrusts, she took pity on him.

"You may touch yourself now," she said, as calmly and imperiously as she was able. He babbled his thanks even as he fumbled beneath his skirts to jerk himself to his conclusion. It took only a few moments before he shook and cried out, falling forward across the vanity and knocking some of the expensive perfumes and powders he had bought for her to the floor.

She laid her hand on his back once more, until he stilled, and then slowly pulled out of him, leaving him gaping and no doubt a little sore, if she remembered the feeling correctly. His legs trembled, then gave out, and he dropped to his knees, frilly petticoats spreading around him. "Gods, I love you," he gasped. "I love you…"

Taralynn was startled by his words, and took her time in removing the harness and setting the tool carefully aside. "Come to bed now," she said at last, not knowing what else to say. Theron, as usual, did as he was told, crawling across the floor to join her. She permitted him to kiss her, then slide his hand between her legs without reprimand, and felt strangely unsettled even as he brought her to climax. _Tomorrow_ , she told herself, _I'll leave tomorrow_ , but she knew it was a lie.


End file.
